You're seeing it for the first time – not that you ever felt the need to see it. It's a slab of black stone, lying about the corpse it's supposed to mark and thus fulfilling its purpose. There was no need to interrupt your travel preparations just in order to stare at a piece of granite.
But now that the day of your departure has arrived, you find yourself wandering aimlessly through the city like a fallen leaf. Or not that aimlessly...? You saw them getting out of the cab, and you couldn't help but follow. They've led you here.
John looks worn, even more so than when you first met him, and there are bitter lines around his lips that were not there before. You watch him talking to the stone, touching it, crying. And when he leaves, something in your stomach twists.
You don't know yet that your cursed brain has counted every single tear and that you will not sleep soundly for the next three years because you will hear them, every single one echoing in your head.
You leave as well.

Sentiment?, you silently ask yourself.
And something inside you gives a short, military nod.

Sentiment.